


A Little More 'Touch Me'

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Casual Sex, Getting Together, Intoxication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Derek Hale/Scott McCall, Recreational Drug Use, Sex for Food, Stoner Sciles, Study Date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I will blow you for half that pizza,” Stiles says. It’s an accident, really, he definitely didn’t mean to say that. It’s true, but he didn’t mean to, fuck – “I mean, I would blow you not for pizza, but at this point, mostly for pizza.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hunger is a slow killer. An extremely slow killer. The fact of the matter is that Stiles can’t afford anything right now, because he’s a college student, and he’s spent all his food money for the week on weed, and well. Okay, so he brought it upon himself, but if he has to eat ramen for one more meal, he’s going to do something drastic. Like, steal his roommate’s food, or jump a pizza delivery boy. He would  _kill_  for a pizza right now. That’s the hunger talking, he gets incredibly violent when he’s hungry. It’s a defense mechanism.

The Cup O’ Noodles is rotating around and around in the microwave, and just thinking about having to eat it is making him feel greasy. Malia’s secret for eating ramen is always eggs and seasoning salt, but Stiles has neither of those things, so he’s stuck with this  _cup_. There’s no choice in the matter, because Stiles needs to meet up with Scott McCall From Bio, so he can’t even scrounge around for anything else. Plus, he can’t let it go to waste, food is food, so he eats it as quickly as he can, trying to slide it down his throat without his taste buds noticing.

The noodles burn his tongue as he rushes to eat them, and by the time he meets up with Scott McCall From Bio he’s a flustered mess. It’s not the usual flustered mess of nerves that Scott regularly induces either, just nerves from being in a rush. When he apologizes, Scott smiles at him all bright and Stiles’ Cup O’ Noodles knots up with the rest of his stomach and Stiles is a flustered mess all over again.

Scott McCall From Bio is a lot to deal with on any given day. He sits towards the front of the class, but to Stiles’ left, so Stiles gets to stare at the back and side of his head like a creep. He keeps his hair short and neat, but it’s thick and would probably be wavy if it was grown out. He pays attention to the professor the way Stiles pays attention to the two moles on Scott’s neck, the ones right behind his ear. That is, a lot. A lot of attention; too much attention, really.

Scott strikes Stiles as a  _very_  good boy, and Stiles continually has the urge to  _devastate him_. The prevailing fantasy in Stiles’ mind is shoving Scott into a wall and making out with him, maybe popping one of the buttons off those damn collared shirts he insists on wearing – The ones with the sleeves that he rolls up to his elbows, showing off his forearms. It’s a personal insult, honestly. Stiles doesn’t know where he gets off –

The problem is, Stiles hasn’t talked to Scott before today, despite the smiles they send each other in passing. Well, that’s a lie, because _yesterday_ , they got paired up to do a short assignment, and they made plans. Which definitely counts as talking, but all Stiles remembered was ‘coffee shop’. Scott’s mouth is incredibly distracting, and Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. It’s a miracle that Stiles remembered  _which_  coffee shop, because he didn’t think to get Scott’s number.

It’s probably obvious that Stiles absolutely doesn’t have his shit together, because Scott says something 20 minutes in, eyes all sincere and worried.

“Dude, are you okay?” he asks, hand coming down on Stiles’ thigh. It’s been bouncing all around without Stiles noticing. The palm of Scott’s hand is incredibly warm, and distracting. Stiles blinks down at it, brain short circuiting, before he remembers Scott asked him a question.

“Yeah, dude, sorry,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair, snarling it up more. “I usually smoke for my ADHD, but I’m out and completely broke until the end of the week.” Until his dad sends more food money. Stiles’ stomach laments, grumbling unhappily at the idea of more Cup O’ Noodles.

“Wait, like weed?” Scott asks, eyes wide. Stiles almost laughs at him, assuming he’s in shock-and-awe about it, but then Scott smiles, all dimples and sincerity. “You should have said something, we could have done this at  _mi casa_ , with a fucking joint.”

“For real?” Stiles asks, lagging to catch up as Scott throws his books in his bag and drains the last of his coffee.

“Hell yeah, dude,” he says, shouldering his bag. “If it helps you concentrate. I would have suggested that first, but I didn’t know if you smoked.”

“I’m a skate-board toting college student who wears a lot of plaid, of course I smoke,” Stiles snorts, following Scott out.

When they get back to Scott’s, his roommate is gone. For a couple of college dudes living off campus, their apartment is pretty clean. There’s dishes in the sink, and some clutter on the tables, but Stiles’ dorm room looks like a tornado swept through it and comes around again every few days just to stir up shit. In comparison, Scott’s apartment is completely spotless, it’s practically a quarantine zone.

There’s a giant bong sitting on the table.

“You weren’t kidding about being a stoner,” Stiles says, running his hand along the stem. Scott chuckles, but doesn’t say anything, in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. Stiles is definitely staring, but holy shit - Scott peels off his shirt to reveal a black tank top and biceps that are even more devastating than his forearms. Stiles can’t tear his eyes away from Scott’s thick collarbone, going hot as he imagines getting his mouth on all of Scott’s golden skin.

“What?” Scott asks, looking over himself, like Stiles is staring at something specific rather than  _all of that_.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Stiles lies, smoothly. High five, Stilinski. Scott smiles, tells Stiles the story about getting it, and all’s right with the world once again.

Until they start smoking. Stiles is hungry again, and he knows that smoking is going to make him even more hungry because  _munchies_. They’re not in a position of friendship that Stiles can just beg off snacks, so that’s not an option. On the other hand, Stiles literally can’t concentrate at all, words floating off the page. It’s a dire situation that needs to be remedied, so when Scott gets out his pipe, Stiles doesn’t argue.

“Sorry, I’d let you take a rip of the bong, but I just cleaned it, so I’m letting it be pretty for a while,” Scott says. Stiles doesn’t answer, too busy watching the way Scott’s cheeks hollow to suck, the way smoke curls out of his plush mouth.

“S’cool,” Stiles answers, belatedly, taking the pipe from Scott and hitting it hard to distract himself. Their bags are pushed off to the side as they pass the pipe back and forth, and Stiles is pretty sure they’re not actually going to get any project planning done. Not that he minds, it’s really nice to just, fucking, chill. Especially with Scott, because Scott is fucking beautiful.

Especially when he’s smoking, blowing smoke rings and smirking at Stiles when Stiles can’t manage any. In truth, Stiles is just fucking up so Scott will keep showing him how, mouth rounding out, cheeks hollowing. It’s a pretty sight, and Stiles likes having Scott’s attention, making him laugh as smoke spills from his mouth.

The dense feeling of being stoned has long since sunk in Stiles’ bones as time wears on. Stiles doesn’t know how  _much_  time, because he has no concept of it when he’s stoned. They’ve cashed the bowl, and are watching offensive adult cartoons when Scott sits up straight and practically runs to the fridge. It reminds Stiles that he’s starving all over again. The tv helped him hyperfocus, so he didn’t think about his stomach, but at the sight of the white box, Stiles’ stomach gurgles.

“Fuuuuck,” Stiles groans, walking over to the kitchen to lean on the counter and stare lustfully at the box in Scott’s hands.

“What?” Scott asks, concerning lining his face. It’s adorable.

“I will blow you for half that pizza,” Stiles says. It’s an accident, really, he definitely didn’t mean to say that. It’s true, but he didn’t mean to, fuck – “I mean, I would blow you  _not_  for pizza, but at this point, mostly for pizza.”

“Wait, you want to blow me?” Scott asks, fumbling with the box before pulling it down on the counter and stepping away. There’s two noticeably splotches of red on his cheekbones. Adorable.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says, thinking he should probably feel more nervous than he does admitting that, but it’s not like he has anything to lose here. They still have to do the project together. Well, Scott could withhold the pizza, but Stiles doesn’t know how likely it is that he was going to get some anyway.

 _Get some_.

Get it?

The confusion in Scott’s eyes nearly evaporates as he processes what Stiles is saying.

“Wait, for  _real_?”

“For really real,” Stiles says. “As long as I get half of that pizza.”

Stiles is laughing when Scott lurches forward and kisses him. It’s a little off kilter, as their faces knock into each other, but Stiles pulls Scott close, keeps him near. The way Scott kisses is so deliberate, slowing Stiles down, sliding his tongue along the seam of Stiles’ lips. Their tongues tangle sweetly as Scott walks Stiles out of the kitchen.

“Wait, pizza,” Stiles whines, eyes darting to the white box on the counter. Scott snorts in amusement, and grabs the box, marching past Stiles and down the hall.

“Blow job first,” he says.

Apparently, Stiles underestimated Scott. Scott isn’t a good boy, not really. He’s got that ‘aim to please’ persona, but he’s  _mischievous_ and  _withholding pizza_.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Stiles says, shutting the door behind them.

He waits until Scott puts down the pizza box to pounce on him, hands fisting in his shirt and yanking him towards Stiles. Stiles has an issue with being overexuberant about sex, but it seems to amuse Scott. The feeling of Scott’s lips against his is fucking  _heavenly_.

They get sidetracked touching each other, the heavy drag of hands under their shirts. Stiles absolutely blames it on the pot, all of his nerves standing at attention for Scott. Every touch makes the back of his head tingle, and he can’t stop gripping Scott’s glorious biceps, dragging his mouth over his jaw, the slight stubble on his skin.

Scott backs up enough to pull his shirt off, and Stiles gets stuck watching the way his abs flex. He’s all lean muscle, and he looks  _strong_ , like he could reasonably pick Stiles up and fuck him against a wall, even though he’s shorter. The thought makes Stiles hot all over, and he’s barely got his own shirt off before he’s pushing Scott towards the bed.

He’s done wasting time. There’s a heavy buzz of desire in his veins, and goddamn he’s really hungry. He’s going to suck Scott’s dick and eat some fucking pizza.

The laughter that spills out of his throat when Stiles wiggles Scott’s tight pants off is a gorgeous sound, light and happy; his pretty brown eyes crinkle at the corners, dimples showing. Stiles crouches on the bed between Scott’s legs, admiring the way his tight black briefs hug his thighs, before he gets his mouth on Scott’s stomach, lick through the thick hair at his happy trail, dragging his teeth over his hips.

“So, blowjob and pizza?” Stiles asks, pressing kiss after kiss into Scott’s warm skin. It’s probably something he could do forever, especially if there was weed and pizza involved.

“Hell yes,” Scott says, so Stiles slides down his underwear and watches hungrily as his cock springs free. It’s flush and thick, and Stiles immediately gets his tongue on it, licking it soppily from base to tip, swirling his tongue over the plump head.

The best thing about giving blowjobs when he’s stoned is that he has the stamina of a race horse. His jaw doesn’t really ache, or at least he doesn’t notice if it aches. All he has to do is focus on his tongue and his hands and make sure everything is slick with spit, and he can go on for at least a half hour. Maybe an hour at max. Of course, his skills are so on point, that no one lasts that long, but what matters is that he  _could_.

At first, Scott keeps his noises to panting and groaning, but Stiles has a talented tongue, and soon enough he’s moaning loudly and chanting Stiles’ name. It’s amazing to hear, really, Scott’s fantastically noisy once Stiles really gets into it; kitten licks over Scott’s heavy balls, and bites to his glorious thighs. When Stiles chances a glance at Scott, his hands are fisted in the sheets, cheeks and chest flush.

It takes longer than Stiles is accustomed to, which Scott keeps apologizing for, “it’s the weed,” he whines, but Stiles doesn’t actually care. He could suck Scott’s dick all day, chasing the taste of spit and precome. That’s probably an incredibly gross thought to anyone else, but Stiles loves it. Loves the feeling of Scott’s dick in his mouth, the way Scott can’t stop groaning and wiggling.

“Fingers?” Stiles asks, nudging two against Scott’s perineum just to see the way he arches sweetly off the bed.

“There’s lube,” Scott says, using his heels to push himself up and scrabble at the bottle under the bed. He flings it at Stiles and sinks back down, hips canted for Stiles.

“Slow down, cowboy,” Stiles says, hand spanning Scott’s hip; Scott has wide shoulders and slim hips with a slight curve. His thighs are incredible, Stiles is sure his ass is perfect too, but he hasn’t gotten a look at it. What Stiles is saying is that Scott is fucking  _beautiful_ , and Stiles is incredibly that he gets to blow him right now.

“I come really easy from penetration,” Scott says, tilting his hips up, panting. Stiles can’t help but smirk at that.

“And, I have magical hands,” Stiles admits, pouring lube onto his fingers. “This isn’t going to last long.”

Scott melts at the first touch, the drag of Stiles’ index finger to his entrance, the gentle nudging as Stiles sinks into him. Definitely something Scott’s done before, Stiles thinks with a groan, as Scott circles his hips in a certain way and Stiles’ finger sinks in deeper.

“Ah, fuck” Scott groans. The look on his face is amazing, mouth slack and red, brows screwed up in concentration. Stiles works his finger in and out of Scott, and takes him back in his mouth, adding a tight suction.

It doesn’t take long for Scott to come like that.

Stiles swallows and pulls away with a satisfied grin, chasing the taste with his tongue.

Scott looks thoroughly fucked out, dick getting soft against his thigh, skin still blushing. It’s a gorgeous sight. He falls on Scott, kissing and biting his mouth.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Stiles says, pulling back. Scott’s blushing and dimpling – Stiles could stare at his face for _ever_.

“Lemme,” Scotts says, and reaches for Stiles’ pants. Stiles bats his hand away and leans back, grabbing at the pizza box.

“Pizza first,” he says, already stuffing a slice into his mouth. It’s glorious, even cold. It makes Stiles so fucking happy, he moans, eyelashes fluttering. The pizza might be better than an orgasm, honestly.

Scott snorts, and takes the pizza box, setting it down on the bed before he shifts and shoves Stiles against the headboard. Stiles slumps against it with his pizza, and Scott works on tugging his pants off.

“You eat the pizza,” he says, with a cheeky grin. “I’m going to blow you.”

“I can’t eat and get head!” Stiles protests, bucking into the warmth of Scott’s palm as Scott grips his dick. Honestly, he probably just needs a few strokes to pop off, he’s so wound up, and Scott’s hand feels so fucking good.

“Try,” Scott says, and pulls his underwear down.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr!](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/132427453347/sex-pizza)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coraline told me 'about Stiles fucking Scott for half a pizza fic: imagine the angst when they both want /more/ but both think it's just /fun/ for the other; Stiles thinks someone as beautiful as Scott would never want him for a serious relationship but he eagerly agrees every time Scott invites him for some smoking to have at least /this/; and Scott feels so bad when he keeps luring Stiles with food and weed but he thinks it's the only way to get Stiles, even for a bit' - so I did a little follow up.

“What’s your problem?” Derek asks. It feels like a trap, but Scott met up with him for coffee, so it’s really his own fault that he failed to identify the trap. There must be a morose expression on his face or something, if Derek’s bringing it up before their coffee orders are done.

“Ugh,” he groans. Derek waits patiently for him to elaborate, because he knows Scott, and knows Scott will talk about it eventually. “There’s a guy.”

“I hope it’s that cute guy from Bio,” Derek says, sounds preemptively exasperated. That makes Scott chuckle, insides loosen up. “I’m tired of hearing about your sexual tension.”

“It’s totally cute guy from Bio.”

“Good. Did you finally ask him out? Was it everything you imagined it to be after two months of pining? Are you waiting until marriage for sex or did you already smoke him out and give him head?”

The fact that Derek knows an can identify his wooing tactics so easily would worry him, if Scott hadn’t used the whole ‘smoke ‘n’ blow’ on him. Those weren’t Scott words, either, that’s what Stiles had affectionately dubbed their pizza session, and Scott thought it was charming and punny. 

“The third option,” Scott says, grinning. He can’t help it, when he thinks about Stiles, he gets all affectionately fuzzy deep down in his stomach and towards his toes. 

“Are you blushing right now?” Derek asks, an edge of disgust to his voice. He’s one of those aromantics that doesn’t even like the idea of a crush, it  _perturbs_  him. The disgust is affectionate, but he treats romance that it smells badly most of the time.  

“I might be, you can’t prove it.”

“Okay. Tell me about Bio boy, and then tell me why the hell you look sad about getting your dick sucked. Or, getting to suck his dick.”

“Both,” Scott says, thinking of the memory fondly. “Okay, so he basically had sex with me for my pizza, and I have no idea what it  _means_.”

“Besides the fact that he’s apparently willing to put out for  _pizza_.”

“Not all of us are trust fund babies,” Scott says, laughing. “There’s a huge class difference between you and every other college student here. We’re all ridiculously broke in comparison.”

“Not the other trust fund baby college students,” Derek says, with a wicked grin that makes Scott roll his eyes. They’re getting sidetracked.

“Not the  _point_ ,” he says. “The point is that I have no idea if he wants to date me, or if he’s just in it for the pizza and pot.”

They’ve hung out a couple of times to do the assignment. It always ends in smoking and orgasms. Scott buys take out, and Stiles moans in appreciation when he eats it. It’s a great time all around, but Scott’s worried that’s  _all_ it is.

He knows he wants more, but he doesn’t know what Stiles wants. The idea of asking Stiles about it, and potentially scaring him off, is harrowing enough that Scott hasn’t approached the subject at all. 

“I don’t know how to tell with these kinds of things,” Derek says, with a shrug. 

“I  _know_ ,” Scott laments. He should probably find a best friend who has some insight, but Derek’s the only one attending Berkeley with him, and if he waits to video chat Allison or Boyd, he’ll forget. “I just have no idea what to do.”

“Just tell him about it,” Derek says, with a roll of his eyes. “Remember how I was like ‘hey I’m aromantic’ before we started sleeping together, so that once you told me you were getting feelings we could  _stop_  sleeping together.”

“Yeah, but that’s like, a communication thing that needs to happen with you,” Scott says, gesturing at all of Derek. As much as he hated telling Derek when he started to fall for him, it was necessary, and he knew it.

“It’s a communication that needs to happen with every single person,” Derek says. That eyebrow is still raised, loaded with judgement. Scott groans. “Seriously, just fucking talk to him.”

“I will,” Scott promises, trying not to feel  _dread_  at the idea. “I just don’t want to stop having sex, but like, I really want to date him, you know?”

“I really don’t.”

The universe hates Scott, it really does. The second he leaves the coffee shop, he runs across Stiles sitting on a bench looking absolutely miserable. His shoulders are hunched, foot tapping anxiously.

“Hey, dude, you okay?” Scott asks, hand cupping Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles startles, eyes darting to Scott’s face before his gaze slides to the coffee shop, and then back. The whole gesture makes Scott nervous for no reason. He moves his hand. 

“Yeah, I –” Stiles stops and makes a face, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Scott really loves looking at Stiles. The way his eyes catch the light is mesmerizing, Scott’s never met anyone with a more fascinating eye color. Scott really likes all the moles Stiles has on his face, the big one the back of his left shoulder. He likes the dimple in the middle of Stiles’ nose, the way he groans when Scott bites his neck. 

“We should talk,” Stiles says, and panic rushes through Scott’s veins. Which is ridiculous, considering he was going to suggest the same thing.

“Yeah, for sure,” Scott says, plastering on what he hopes is a relaxed and inviting grin instead of a grimace. “Should we go back to mine?”

“No, I, uh,” Stiles says, biting at his lips. Scott sits next to him, to spare him from having to explain himself. It’s not like they’re going to break up, they’re not  _together_. It’s just that Scott will be incredibly upset if the ‘smoke ‘n’ blow’ stops now. They were just getting started.

“Dude, you’re freaking me out a little,” he says, trying not to sound too anxious, but the sooner Stiles spits it out, the better he’ll feel about the whole thing. 

Stiles makes a few more faces before he straightens, and looks at Scott.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“What, no,” Scott says, before his brain supplies him with the fact that he’s kind-of, sort-of seeing  _Stiles_. “Well, I mean,  _you_ , but I didn’t know if I would slap that label on it just yet.”

Stiles blinks at him, in slow motion, frowning. 

“Me?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Scott rubs the back of his neck. He feels hot all over, and not in the fun, blushing way he usually does when Stiles is staring at him so intently. “We haven’t really talked about it, yet. I was actually going to see if you wanted to have that conversation, but here you are!”

“I saw you in the cafe,” Stiles says, still looking and sounding extremely confused. “You and that guy looked like you knew each other really well. I’m not trying to jump to conclusions –”

“Oh god, no,” Scott says, mouth going a little slack. Right, Derek. “I mean, we were. We have history, but he’s my best friend now, and it’s not like  _that_. He’s aromantic, so he doesn’t really _get involved_ , and we’re not QP material or anything.”

“Sorry, I just,” Stiles says, hand on Scott’s arm. He doesn’t know when he got so rambly. He usually has a good handle on communicating, but Stiles makes him so jumpy and nervous that apparently, he rambles. “I saw you guys, and I got really jealous, and then I realized that the reason  _why_  I was jealous is because I realized I wanted to date you, and if you were seeing someone else, it was going to upset me.”

Scott inhales sharply, eyes on Stiles’ face. That makes Stiles smile a little, and squirm.

“I was going to make some grand proclamation, but I just told you so, yeah.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Scott says, sincerely. “I really want to date you, too.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open in surprise. 

“Really?”

“Why  _wouldn’t_  I?” Scott asks, seriously. He hasn’t told Stiles about how he pretty much developed a crush on him the first time he saw him in class. How he’s been tempted to change seats more than once, so that he would have a better view of Stiles. How he got so excited about the fact that they were assigned the same project, that he literally texted all his friends about it.

Those details can probably wait, but the fact remains that Scott is  _ecstatic_  about the idea of dating Stiles.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, eyes darting all over his face like he’s trying to catch Scott in a lie. Scott leans forward and pulls him into a hard kiss, trying to convey just how sincere he is. When they part, Stiles exhales heavily. “You’re just so fucking great.”

“You are, too,” Scott says, and means it more than anything. Stiles is smart and beautiful and Scott can’t wait to date the fuck out of him. “Want to come to my house, get stoned, and have sex?”

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles says, grinning. He stands and pulls Scott up, grinning from ear to ear as he laces their fingers together. “I’ll buy the pizza this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [part 1](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/132427453347/sex-pizza)   
>  [part 2](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/132450898892/this-didnt-fit-into-reply-box-about-stiles)


End file.
